The Small Things
by vr2lbast
Summary: Weiss Side B, Aya & Ken, When Aya isn't feeling well, Ken takes the opportunity to explain to him his view of the important things in life.


The Small Things (November 2006)

Ken was prone to stomachaches, due less to delicacy than to a sheer disregard for what he put in his mouth. He blamed British cuisine although he tended to eat a lot of it. He claimed it necessary to find something he liked. As far as Aya could tell, he liked anything that was served with a heap of greasy chips.

That was fine, really. Aya could have cared less what Ken ate, as long as he kept in fighting shape, and Ken worked out with almost fanatical regularity. He also would have cared less about Ken's passing illnesses, but for one thing: he was invariably vocal about them. Pissing and moaning, bitching and whining: those were the orders of the day and what annoyed Aya the most was that they were entirely unnecessary.

Ken could handle pain; hell, Aya had run him through with his sword after the mess at Koua Academy and Ken had held himself together, making jokes even as he dragged himself out of a burning building. According to Omi – no, Mamoru – Ken had cracked wise right up until the anesthetic kicked in at the hospital. An upset stomach was nothing compared to the injuries they sustained on missions. Ken complained because he wanted attention.

Michel fell for it every time; fussing and clucking like a mother hen. He brought teas, and pillows, and blankets: whatever Ken's heart desired. It was probably fortunate that Ken's desires were fairly basic and Michael's bouts of nursing ended with a nap, sprawled out in the comfortable chair in front of the television. If Michel was not available, Free took over, dispensing somber judgment upon the wisdom of eating chilies with herring, but offering no less comfort in his own quiet way.

"You're encouraging him," Aya told them gruffly, but Michel only laughed.

"It's fun!" he said. "Besides, he'd do the same if I wanted him to."

Aya snorted. "You have more sense than he does. Seagulls have more sense and they eat garbage."

Michel laughed again and continued his pampering. It was a game to him, Aya realized, and supposed he shouldn't begrudge the boy his fun, but being spoiled only made Ken redouble his efforts when faced with someone less accommodating. Yuki tried his best to ignore him, but always ended up fetching a glass of bitter medication that he handed over with a huff. Ken always smirked and drank it dutifully before wheedling for a blanket. Yuki held out as long as possible for each demand, but eventually gave in. It was easier than listening to him yeowl.

Aya usually agreed, but listening to Ken yeowl still beat listening to him argue with Chloe, who preferred mockery to servitude. He prodded Ken's complaints into a shouting match that Aya was usually forced to dismiss with cutting remarks. It left Chloe brooding, Ken sulking, and the rest of the household tense and uncertain.

All in all, the only person whose presence Aya could tolerate when Ken was in one of his moods was Kurumi. She was as accommodating as Michel, but Ken seemed embarrassed about making demands of her, thanking her and falling silent. Aya didn't think it was because she was female – when she was around, Ken whined after Mihirogi as much as anyone else. Perhaps it was her age. Whatever the reason, Aya blessed her presence and the silence it brought.

Unfortunately, Kurumi was at the labs today, Yuki and Michel were minding the shop, Free was picking up supplies, and Chloe was doing some preliminary investigative research, so Aya was alone in the den with his piles of paperwork when Ken stumbled in from his own investigations and collapsed with a groan on the sofa. Aya gave him ten minutes to start complaining.

Ken only took five.

"Aya-a," he pleaded, drawing the last vowel out into something just shy of a whine.

Aya sighed. It was best to nip this in the bud before it bloomed into a full-scale attack. "What do you want, Ken?"

"Aya, my stomach hurts."

"So?"

"Get me something?"

"Get it yourself," Aya said sharply. He refused to look toward the sofa. He knew, in the depths of his soul, that Ken was making puppy eyes in an attempt to look pitiful. "You got in here under your own power, you're tough enough to get your own medicine."

"But Aya-a…"

Aya sighed and slammed his pen down on the desk. It was better to deal with this and put an end to it before it got out of hand. He went to the kitchen and mixed a glass of antacid solution, chalky white and thoroughly unappetizing, and brought it back to the den. In the time he was gone, Ken had managed to crawl off the couch and settle into his favourite chair. It seemed he had no problem getting around when it suited him.

"Here," Aya said, holding out the glass. Ken grimaced, giving Aya a moment of satisfaction, but he took the glass in good grace, downed its entire contents, and handed it back with a smirk.

"No," Aya told him when he seemed about to speak again. "That's all. I have work to do and I'm not going to listen to you whine all day. Stay here if you want, but be quiet."

"Blanket?" Ken ventured, ever daring. "Just a blanket, Aya. Please?"

There were hooks on the wall hung with afghans. Aya grabbed one and tossed it into Ken's lap. "Just a blanket," he said. "That's all. Quiet now."

Ken grinned. "You don't want to hear about the guy I tailed?"

"When Chloe gets back. Quiet now."

Ken chuckled and settled back under his blanket, his feet propped up on the ottoman. "Okay, I'll be quiet. Thanks, Aya."

Aya grunted a reply and returned to his desk. He expected Ken to start his complaints again in another five minutes, but he dozed off instead, snoring quietly. Aya wondered why he was so easily satisfied this time, but decided not to question his good fortune. Perhaps it was a firm hand that was needed. Perhaps he should mention this to Yuki.

He bent his head to his task and finished without further interruption.

* * *

Aya stepped out of the shop and into the house proper, kicking off his shoes without his usual care. It was hell out there and he'd been living on nothing but black coffee since he woke up, which wreaked havoc on his digestion. Tea would have been preferable, but Chloe had pulled the refreshment run and strong coffee was his specialty. Aya would be glad to sit down with some real food, even if his stomach disagreed.

Ken was in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables. This boded well for dinner, but not for Aya's patience. "What are you making?" he said, hinting that the job was best done sooner than later.

"Curry," Ken replied and Aya's stomach twisted. Ken must have seen him wince because he added, "The recipe's not too hot, but I can put some aside for you if you want, just sauté it or something. I'm just starting, so it's no problem."

Aya grunted a dismissal. After all the grief he'd given Ken about his eating habits, Aya wasn't about to admit to an upset stomach of his own. "Curry's fine," he said, glancing around the kitchen for anything else that might help. Raw vegetables were too harsh and he didn't feel like scouring the cupboards.

"You want fried noodles or steamed rice with this?" Ken said, oblivious to Aya's sour mood.

"Rice," Aya snapped and immediately regretted it. Ken turned to look at him, eyebrows raised, and Aya was not in the mood for explanations. "I mean rice will be fine." At least it would be bland. "Call me when it's ready. I have some paperwork to do."

He left the kitchen and headed for the den as Ken resumed the rattle and clatter of cookery. He did have paperwork to do, as it happened; the accounts needed to be signed and filed. Yuki normally balanced the books for the shop, proving himself to be quite proficient, but he was underage and could not sign them. Well, Aya supposed that he could, but it was unusual and unusual things were often called into question. In the interest of keeping a low profile as far as the law was concerned, Aya had taken to looking over the numbers and signing them off himself. It was light work and Aya's only concern was that it would not be distracting enough.

He had barely covered the first sheet when he heard someone enter the room. Aya refused to look around, but the general fumbling about told him that it was probably Ken. As if to prove him right, Ken clucked his tongue and leaned over Aya's shoulder.

"You should use the comfy chair," he said and Aya could picture the grin on him: well meaning, concerned, and vaguely puzzled.

"I have work to do," Aya said. "Weren't you cooking?"

"No, really. You should," Ken said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Aya tried to brush it away, but that only gave Ken the opportunity to grab him by the wrist and pull him to his feet. "Trust me, Aya. Try it. God, you're a pain in the ass."

Aya scowled at that and tried to sit back down, but Ken was already dragging him across the room. "Here, sit," he said, pushing Aya down into the large, cushioned chair.

"Ken..."

"It's better if you don't sit right back," Ken went on, oblivious or ignoring him, Aya wasn't quite sure which.

Pillows were stuffed behind him, putting him at a slight recline, and he lifted his legs automatically when Ken tapped them, making room for a footstool. "Ken," he tried once more, "I have work to do."

Ken waved him away. "It's good. It's good," he said, grabbing a blanket from its hook and tucking it around Aya's legs. "You can use Yuki's homework table. It's a good chair for that, you'll see. I've used it; it's comfy."

The homework table was made of wood, light and sturdy, and fit snugly between the arms of the chair where Ken slid it in, leaving plenty of room for Aya's legs underneath. The top was smooth with no ridges, but a groove the width of Aya's palm ran down the left-hand side. It was the perfect size for a mug and a set of utensils.

"It's a breakfast tray," Aya said flatly.

Ken's smile faltered. "I know it's a breakfast tray," he said quietly. "Yuki doesn't use it that way, okay? He uses it for the homework he can do in front of the television. Here..."

Ken went to the desk and collected Aya's work, ensuring that the pages were kept in order, and placed them on the tray. It held them perfectly with space enough for two sheets to lie side by side. In the groove on the side, Ken dropped a few pens and pencils. They slid to the bottom, leaving a small space at the top.

"And still room for a drink," he said. He smiled again, somewhat sadly. "I'm gonna make some tea, okay? You sing out if you need something."

He switched on the floor lamp as he passed, bathing the chair in warm light. Aya sighed and sank back against the pillows. Ken meant well, but he could be annoyingly persistent even when his help was unwanted. Aya supposed he should move back to the desk, but the longer he sat there the less he wanted to move. The heat from the blanket was relaxing and eased the cramped feeling in his stomach. It also helped that he was not hunched over his work.

Aya looked down at the makeshift table and pushed his papers around a little. It shouldn't be comfortable to sit like this and work, but it was. He would have to speak with Yuki about doing his homework this way, of course. It wasn't healthy to write for long periods in this position and television was an unnecessary distraction for a student. It was fine for him though. His work was mostly reading and he had no outside distractions.

He was nearing the end of the second day's tallies when he sensed someone nearby. Ken plunked a mug of hot liquid down in the top of the table's groove and slid a small plate under Aya's hand.

"Those are pretty good," he said as Aya examined one of the digestive biscuits. "They're plain, but a little bit sweet. Tea's peppermint. Free makes this really great stuff that tastes kinda spicy, like cinnamon, and you'd probably like it better, but I don't know how to make it."

He fell into silence then, trapped between the need to say something conclusive and the courtesy of giving Aya a chance to speak. He shifted his weight and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans like the world's most overgrown five-year-old. However, unlike a child, he met Aya's annoyed gaze with utter confidence. Whatever he was up to, he believed in it absolutely.

Aya sighed. "What are you doing, Ken?"

Ken looked at him as if it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "I'm trying to make you feel better. You have a stomachache, don't you?" He rolled his eyes when Aya glared at him, then grimaced and rubbed his upper abdomen. "You keep doing this," he explained.

Aya frowned and was surprised to realize that he was doing it even as Ken spoke. Ken grinned at him. He chose to ignore it.

"What does that matter?" he said instead. "It's a small thing. You're the only one who makes a big deal out of it."

"Yep," Ken said. "I don't give the others a chance. I've taken care of Michel and Yuki, Kurumi, too, sometimes, and Chloe once, but he'll kill me if you tell him I told you that. Free doesn't seem to get sick," he mused.

"He has more sense than any of you," Aya said, before remembering he was in the same predicament. "I still don't see the sense in making such a fuss over an upset stomach. We've both been through worse."

"But that's just it, see?" Ken said, squatting down next to the arm of the chair. When it became obvious that Aya was not grasping his point of view, he elaborated.

"Look," he said. "We get some nasty-assed injuries in the line of duty, right? I mean I've been fucking shot, right? Hell, you ran me through on your damned sword."

"What of it?" Aya said cautiously.

"Yeah, yeah...not your idea, I know. Don't sweat it," Ken said, grinning when Aya relaxed a little. He propped his elbows up on the arm of the chair and elaborated his speech with gestures. "See, it's like this. We get all beat up some nights, right?"

Aya nodded cautiously.

"Right. But we don't have time to let that stop us. I mean, if the mission's over, great…we can get patched up. But there might be a mission the night after, and the one after that, and there's really not much we can do about it if the wounds aren't healed yet or if we're just sore all over. If it's really bad, we can always sit the mission out, but I hate doing that because I always wonder if there's something I could be doing to help out and then feel bad if someone gets hurt, like I could have done something to stop it."

Aya tilted his head, puzzled. He understood what Ken was saying, but not how it applied to his current situation. Ken had a tendency to ramble when he really got into a story. "What's your point?" Aya said.

"My _point_," Ken huffed, "is that we have to suffer through enough shit that can't be helped. Why the hell should we suffer through the small stuff that can? See how great that chair is? It's nice and comfortable and if you stick pillows behind your back, you can sort of lean back just so and take the pressure off. If you're nice and warm, you don't feel so cramped, and putting something bland in your stomach helps with acid. The tea helps to settle it too. Tastes better than that store-bought shit anyway."

Aya absorbed this in silence. He was loath to admit it, but Ken was right. Even without the tea and the biscuits, he was feeling quite a bit better. "You never complain when Yuki and I give you the store-bought tablets."

"Eh…you know." Ken shrugged good-naturedly. "That stuff tastes nasty, but it does the job and the real money is that you went to get it for me. When you have an upset stomach, getting comfortable and just not moving around too much is what makes me feel best. And, you know, it's just kinda nice to be waited on. Michel and Free get that and Chloe too, which is why he's such a prick about it. Yuki hasn't quite got the connection yet, so I have to work on him although I don't push him past the basics. You're just a stubborn bastard, but I guess you want me to shut up, so it all works out the same."

Aya scowled at him, but Ken's grin only broadened, which meant that Aya was being sent up although the assessment was more or less accurate.

"What about Kurumi?" he said, reining in his annoyance.

Ken looked a little put off. "Ah, well, I don't think she's completely comfortable here yet. She always looks like she thinks a fuck-up will get her killed, so I don't like pushing her around too much. I can bitch at you 'cause I put up with you all the time and figure I've earned it."

He chuckled and ducked out of the way when Aya took a casual swipe at him. Aya allowed him his escape. He was tucked in rather neatly and not inclined to give chase. Whatever he thought of Ken's logic, he could not deny that he was feeling better now than when he had first walked into the room. He felt warm, comfortable – even drowsy – and it really was nice to have someone fuss over him.

"You know, you're not as stupid as you look," he said.

"Call me Mr. Ingenuity," Ken said, preening.

"I wouldn't go that far."

Ken shrugged the insult off, smiling warmly. "Well, you sit and read and I'll get back to the kitchen. Just sing out if you need something. Really."

Aya let him get as far as the door before a very faint, but mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Ke-en," he called, drawing the single syllable into two. "Could you put on some music? Anything that's Easy Listening. Not too loud."

He felt, rather than saw, Ken bow and the room filled with the low murmur of soft rock. He haggled over the volume and then let Ken get most of the way into the hallway before calling him back.

"I need my pillow fixed," Aya lied through a smile of pure malice. Ken fixed the offending pillow and was only two steps away from the chair when Aya called him again: "Ke-en…"

Ken sighed, leaned over the back of the chair, and roughed up Aya's hair. "You know, I love you and all," he said, "and I guess I deserve this, but you're gonna have to let me at least get the vegetables on. If the others come back and there's no food on the table, they're going to dig up your sword and spit-roast you."

Aya tilted his head back, treating Ken to a rare look of gratitude, and thumped him on the forehead with a pen.

"Just testing you," he said. "Get back to work."

Ken snorted and returned to the kitchen. Aya sat back and tried to read over his paperwork, but was lulled into a doze by the warm blanket and soft music. Now that he understood the appeal and benefits of being waited on, Aya supposed he could forgive Ken his cries for attention.

Just as long as no one expected him to answer them, of course.

–End–


End file.
